


You Made It Angry

by Shippershape



Series: Stretch & Dr. Goodkin [18]
Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Claustrophobia, F/M, the elevator in cams building is shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirsten and Cameron get stuck in an elevator. It turns out he's not a huge fan of tight, enclosed spaces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Made It Angry

“You know, you live in a pretty nice building.” Kirsten observes, glancing around as they make their way from Cameron’s front door to the elevator.

“Uh, thanks.” It’s a compliment, he knows. But she practically lives at his apartment, has been in his building hundreds of times. So it’s not like any of this is new to her. Besides, he isn’t particularly proud of his living situation, considering his parents bought the place he’s currently living in.

“The elevator’s kind of a wreck, though.” She continues, as they step into it. He glances around, agreeing. It’s one of his least favourite parts of the building. There’s something about it that just seems rickety, and old and makes his pulse thrum a little bit harder on the ride down to the lobby. It shakes a little as the doors close, almost like it heard what Kirsten said.

“I keep leaving notes for the landlord, but I guess it’s not a high priority.” He shrugs. “So, are you going to tell me what that phone call was about earlier?”  She makes a face. She’d taken the call in the hallway, a measure of privacy he’s never seen from her before.

“It was Liam. He was just checking in from South Africa.”

“Liam? But-”

Suddenly, the elevator shakes. With a metal-on-metal screech that could only be described as painful, the whole thing comes to a shuddering stop. The overhead light flickers once, then goes out.

“Wha-” Kirsten’s voice comes from somewhere in the void to his left.

“You made it angry!” He hisses. He can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“That’s ridiculous.”

He gropes around in front of him, and his fingers brush the panel with the emergency call button. He hits it, a little harder than necessary. Nothing happens.

“Oh no.” He groans. He’s more than a little afraid that this is a sign the power to the elevator is completely off. He tries not to wonder what that means for the winch currently holding them in place on the eighth floor. He’s not good with small spaces. It was never an issue until he found himself in the corpse cassette, the nightmares started shortly after that. There was something about being locked in a chamber, laying on a table where so many dead bodies have been. It didn’t sit well with him. His heart hammers in his chest, and he leans against the wall.

“Are you crying?” Kirsten asks, and he can hear her shuffling carefully towards him.

“No.” He mutters. “I’m not crying, I’m hyperventilating. It’s different.” Something touches his arm, and he lets out a little squeak of fear.

“Relax, girlfriend.” She murmurs. “It’s just me.”

He’s quiet for a minute, trying to catch his breath. It just gets worse, he can’t stop imagining the metal box they’re currently trapped in hurtling down to the floor and scrambling them like eggs.

“You need to calm down.” She sounds concerned now.

“I’m _trying_.” He can’t though. His breathing speeds up, heart beating painfully against his ribcage.

“What can I do?” She asks, and normally just having her there would be enough. But this is a little bit more complicated than that. He’s been having a hard time controlling his emotions since the incident, and sometimes they completely take over.

“I don’t know.” He pants. “Just, uh, distract me.” She’s still right there beside him, and she slips an arm around his waist. She’s quiet for a few seconds, presumably thinking of something to say.

“Liam wants me to reconsider.” She says. He shoots her a look she can’t see.

“That’s not really what I meant.” He mumbles.

“I told him no.” Her voice is thoughtful. The elevator wobbles, and he lets out an involuntary gasp. “It’s okay, see? We’re fine.” She rubs his back.

“We’re going to die.” He whines. She pinches him.

“That’s not helpful. It’s probably just a brownout.” He knows she’s probably right, they have them in LA all the time. But the logical side of his brain is no longer in charge.

“So, you turned Liam down?” He asks.

“It’s not really a surprise. I already did it once.” She reminds him. “You were right. I don’t love him.”

She’s said it before, but he finds it’s something he doesn’t mind hearing again.

“Then you made the right call.” He fists his hands, trying to sound nonchalant. She doesn’t buy it.

“I can practically hear your heart beating. Since when are you claustrophobic?” She asks.

“Since the corpse cassette.” He says through his teeth. The following silence is loaded. It’s a sore subject for both of them. He’s tried to talk to her about it a few times, but she usually just brushes him off. Camille likes to tell him to give it time, but it’s been months, and he’s starting to get tired of her avoiding it. “I think we’ve officially hit panic attack territory.” He notes, as his head begins to spin.

“I don’t know-” She sounds frustrated.

“Distract me!” He grunts.

“I’m trying!”

“Distract me better!”

He’s so aware of his breathing he can’t focus on anything else. But then Kirsten is pressing her lips to his and his breathing stops completely. Even in his panicked state he wants her, almost more desperately this way. She tastes like mint and poptarts, and his hands find her waist. They’re fumbling, because it’s dark, and he’s surprised, and confused, but she tastes like _poptarts_. He presses her into the wall, and she makes a sound that starts him breathing again, something between a moan and his name. Her fingers tangle in his hair, and she lifts her legs to wrap them around his waist. His fingers dig into her hip, he can’t help it, he _wants_ her-

And the elevator gives an almighty jerk, sending them both flying. They land in a heap on the floor, Kirsten on top of him. The lights flicker back on, and he realizes the warmth spreading over his face is not, in fact, him blushing, but a torrent of blood.

“Oh my god.” Kirsten leans down to peer at his face, still straddling him. “Your nose.” He sits up with her still in his lap, pinching the bridge of it.

“Yeah, I think your elbow caught me on the way down.” He sighs. His words are a little slurred due to the blood and the fact that he’s holding his nose. She looks worried for a moment, then claps a hand to her mouth. She’s not fast enough. The giggle escapes, a foreign and beautiful sound. He stares at her.

“Sorry.” She manages, holding her stomach. “It’s not funny.” He rolls his eyes. She climbs off of him, and he misses her weight immediately. Holding out her hand, she beckons for him to get up. He does, wobbling on his feet. The room spins, and he blinks. He realizes the elevator is moving again, and it gives a small ping as it arrives, finally, at the ground floor. He tilts his head back to stop the bleeding, and Kirsten guides him through the doors.

“Are we on the real ground?” He asks, sounding pathetic. She chuckles.

“Nice solid laminate on concrete. Come on, we’ll get you cleaned up at work. Unless you want to go back up to your place.”

He shakes his head, sending little droplets of blood flying. She ducks, and he can see her giving him a dirty look out of the corner of his eye.

“I can’t drive.” He mumbles. His neck is starting to get sore from looking up.

“I’ll call an Uber.” She says. “I’m sure most of them have seen worse.” He can’t argue with that.

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asks. Beside him, she pauses.

“You wanted me to distract you.”

He raises his eyebrows at the ceiling.

“Is that all it was? A distraction?” He’s tempting fate, but he’s been growing slowly tired of pretending he’s not in love with her. Maybe the truth getting out wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He feels hands on his face, and tilts his head back down to look at her. His nose doesn’t immediately start gushing again, so he assumes that’s a good sign. Kirsten is staring at him, chewing on her bottom lip. It occurs to him that he was doing the exact same thing only a couple minutes ago. He wants to do it again.

“No, that’s not all it was.” He almost doesn’t believe what he’s hearing, except for the fact that he’s watching her lips move rather intently.

“So…what was it?” He prompts, still distracted by her mouth.

“I wanted to know what it would feel like.” She admits. It’s not the answer he was expecting. Something nervous flutters in his stomach.

“So, other than the part where you broke my nose, how exactly did that go?” He asks.

“Well,” She looks straight at him, and for a second he thinks he might have another panic attack. “I was with Liam for years, and I never felt that.” Her voice grows soft. “Any of that.”

It’s good enough for him. His face breaks into a wide smile, and a woman walking past catches sight of him, then let’s out an alarmed squawk.

“Okay, Casanova. We should get you out of here, you’re scaring people.” Kirsten grabs him by the hand again, this time lacing her fingers between his.

“Kirsten?”

“Yeah.”

“For the record.” He can’t stop smiling at her, despite knowing that it mixes with the gore on his face to make him look a little deranged. “I’ve never felt that before, either.” She lets out a sigh, something like relief.

“Good. Now let’s get you out of here before someone calls the police and you have to explain all of this to Fisher.” She tugs on his arm, and he follows her out to the Uber. He would follow her anywhere. Except, maybe, back into that elevator.

 

 

 

 


End file.
